


Undead Love.

by WrittenInInc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenInInc/pseuds/WrittenInInc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre Reichenbach Fall. A death of a loved one can affect someone in more ways than one.  We go into denial because the loss is so unthinkable, we become angry with ourselves, survivors, and everyone around us. We fall into depression, and try to accept that we have to move on with our lives.</p><p>John knows himself that he slips into all those categories, but can't see himself bargaining. He wants to bargain his life, his soul, just have one more day with the man who showed him the battle field. Sherlock Holmes. But once he finds out that the mad man that he's put up with all this time is still alive, can he share the way he feels towards him, or have all these feelings only been poured out through grief?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undead Love.

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note: This is my first Sherlock fanfic, and I do try my best to be as descriptive as possible for a 16 year old. I’d rather my writing to be kept within fanspace, not to be tweeted to anyone who is part of the cast or crew, much appreciated.
> 
> This fic is mainly based on this song, because this song is so full of feelings asdfghjkl.
> 
> Cause, I built a home  
> for you  
> for me
> 
> Until it disappeared  
> from me  
> from you
> 
> And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust...
> 
> \- To Build A Home (The Cinematic Orchestra)

**Chapter 1: The Grief of a Soldier**

 

Sherlock stood as still as an ice cube. His eyes were fixed on something a little distance away, from where he was standing. He’d forced all of his concentration on this one thing. This one thing, was John. He looked down innocently, inhaling deeply as he tried to bring himself together. Lifting his head up once again, his lips dropped to a frown as he saw John walking away. Taking the last drag of his cigarette, Sherlock quickly pressed the burn against the tree he was standing behind, before scurrying away towards the main road.

Sherlock stopped a few metres away from the main road, remembering how he can't be seen, can't be seen because he's **dead**. He curled the edges of his jacket and shoved his hands in his pocket, before heading down an empty alley way behind the local takeaway. Creeping through the dark, empty alley, Sherlock walked deep in thought, though he did manage to let his observation skills run free as he walked.

* * *

By now, John had already reached 221B Baker Street. He normally felt happy whenever he'd return from a case,  a date, or even just a quick drink down the local pub, but today was different. Slipping out of the cab and paying the driver, John felt alone, more alone than he’d ever felt in his entire life, but this was something he had to get used to. As he glided across to the front door, he pulled out the keys from his pocket and stuck them into lock, quickly opening the door, he limped inside like a shadow. _A shadow that didn't want to be seen_. Mrs Hudson could already tell that John wasn't in the mood for talking, so she sat in her kitchen, sipping her tea silently and kept to herself. John lurked in the hallway for a few seconds, his head turning to look at Mrs Hudson, his mouth gaping open to say something... Nothing. He looked down with disappointment, inhaled deeply before making his way up the stairs slowly.

John knew as soon as he'd walk into the room, _his room_ , all of the memories would flood their way back into his head, all the good and the bad ones. Thinking of this, the tremor in his hand began to wake, his fingers shaking like a little poodle. "Please, not now" John mumbled to himself, before opening the door slowly and stepping inside with light feet. His eyes wandered around the room, examining each and every thing that belonged to Sherlock. His books, his skull, even that face of bullets that had been shot into the wall. John held himself together as he shut the door, his body beginning to heat up as he slid off his coat, draping it over the desk chair lazily before walking over to his chair. He let himself drop, his whole body beginning to sink into the puffy, leather cushion. John lifted up his arm and placed it on the arm of the chair, letting his cheek lean against his knuckles, even though they kept on jolting. John looked forward, straight towards the door. No sound slipped past his lips, no sound coming from anywhere. John was alone, and this was something he wasn’t willing to participate in just yet.

* * *

With the darkness creeping up on him slowly, Sherlock kept close to himself as he came to the end of the street behind Baker Street. The street lights were flickering endlessly, which was no surprise due to how bad everything normally looked around the place nowadays, but that didn’t matter. That’s all that mattered to Sherlock was John, the John Watson who became his best friend. It slipped his mind that he was standing in the light, homeless people surrounding him in the doors of empty houses, but he didn’t care whether he got recognised. For the first time in the man’s life, there were things on his mind that he wanted to get rid of. With a heave of his shoulders, Sherlock looked at the blank, miserable faces that lay limp against the doorway, his expression only staying the same as he began mumbling to himself as he walked. “How normal people can put up with such rabid thoughts every day I never know…” the man grumbled, his eyes turning thin as he slowly began making his way up Baker Street. “Silly people and their thoughts, their idiotic, dull thoughts that mean nothing at all. Nothing!” his voice slowly became hoarse, which soon made him realise how much he really wasn’t used to feeling like this, in any situation whatsoever.

 

With all of these thoughts, and troubles running through his great mind, Sherlock had completely forgotten about Speedy’s Cafe next door, knowing that half of the time they stayed open late in the nights. With a quick skip towards the wall that lay either side of 221B Baker Street’s door, he swallowed hard and let out a light sigh of relief. It felt too soon for the man to go bursting in and present himself to the people he loved dearly once again, no, now wasn’t the right time. But no, this had to be done. That’s all the man wanted to do was tell his best friend, his saviour, that he loved him. Loved him more than he loves work, loves being right, loves proving people wrong… He loved him more than anything he could imagine, and not in the romantic way, in the way of thanks. He wanted to thank John for being there for him, for being the one to show him being normal isn’t all that bad, for being the one to pick him off his feet when he really needed to be picked up. That’s all he wanted to do was let this man know that he couldn’t live without him.


End file.
